


Simple and Divine

by TheWillowBends



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dan Missed His Destiny as Goddess’ Human Furniture, Dan is a mess, Dangst, F/M, Forniphilia, Fuckruary 2021 (Lucifer TV), Fuckruary 2021: BDSM, Fuckruary 2021: New Ship, Fuckruary 2021: Oral Sex, Human Furniture, Humiliation, Humor, It’s All Been Downhill From There For Him, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:55:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29631480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWillowBends/pseuds/TheWillowBends
Summary: Dan doesn’t know why he keeps circling back around to the same mistakes, but he’s certain he deserves it.
Relationships: Dan Espinoza/Mother of Angels | Charlotte Richards
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Simple and Divine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FluffyGlitterPantsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffyGlitterPantsDragon/gifts).



He tries to justify it, pare it down into easily digested bits, the lies he tells himself to get through each day. They build up over time, a little like a callus, worn smooth and impenetrable to the better parts of himself that prick at his conscience when he makes them. It’s almost compulsive at this point, a story he makes up as he goes along, even as it has cost him dearly, personally and professionally. When he looks in the mirror, it feels sometimes like a stranger looks back, speaking in tongues, something out of bad fiction, a corner he wrote himself into.

Charlotte Richards doesn’t particularly care for his problems. She crashes into his life in six-inch stilettos like a bat out of a hell, aggressively mysterious in a way that makes him longs to unravel her against all of his better instincts, but she won’t have it. Even after that tussle with Lucifer, which only complicates the fragmented image he has of her in his mind (family? old flame? fling?), she remains closed to him, like a door locked with no key.

Her needs are simple and blunt, targeted with incautious regard for his person, like a strike with the flat edge of a broadsword. He knows he _shouldn’t_ fuck her, but she makes it an easy sin to embrace, sly like the serpent who offered the apple, the bite he can’t help but take. At the end of the day, there is little better proof of man’s ability to get bounced out of paradise than Dan Espinoza.

She complains about her ex-husband while she rides his face. Dan has stopped trying to make sense of her weird marital history amongst the former spouse she’s complaining about, the one she separated from a month ago, and the coworker she’d been screwing on the side when she first got tangled up in their lives. It’s a mess, all of it, almost as much as he is. He just nods along as he eats her out, working her cunt like the work of art that it is, while she groans and gasps and fucks his face like it's a throne made for the goddess she claims to be. When she comes on his tongue, it’s practically a blessing.

Later, they retire to his living room where she sits and drinks wine wearing nothing but those heels, the pointed end of which digs into him where her feet are kicked up and resting on his back while the news drones on in the background. Dan groans a little, his erection hot and heavy between his legs, where he crouches on his hands and knees, her _objet du jour_ in the best way.

On the television, the announcer is discussing wildfires ravaging their way through eastern California, creating a smoke advisory for Los Angeles. Charlotte sighs, swirling the merlot in her glass, oblivious to his sweet agony.

“It is remarkable how fragile you humans are,” she muses, looking at her own pale, delicate hand like it is an extension of something foreign and unnatural. “I’ll never understand what my husband was thinking when He made you that way.”

It’s the way she says it that gets him, that haughty, detached tone that reminds him of _Lucifer_ of all people, like she’s staring through the magnifying glass at a scuttling insect. Reminds him of the first time they had this go round, back when he had tried getting to know her, asking her where she hailed from. She had tossed her hair, telling him she did not come from _anywhere_ , she simply _was_ and always had been, the way the void knew darkness before it knew stars, and then she had laughed, shoved a tongue down his throat, and started unbuttoning his jeans.

It’s so fucking weird, but, _God_ , she is so fucking hot.

“Sorry we aren’t living up to your expectations,” he says, and for his sass, she jabs her heel into his shoulder harder. Beyond any acceptable measure of reason, his cock twitches.

“It is hardly your fault, I suppose. The art can only be as good as the sculptor, and my husband’s vision has always outstripped His talent in that regard.” She scoffs, sipping at her merlot. “He always thought He knew best.”

Dan sucks in a breath, trying to reroute blood to somewhere other than his groin. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, thinking of the way she had stood in his doorway and pleaded with him to let her in, strangely plaintive and more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. It was like somebody had opened a window into her, and he had peered in to see something almost, well, human.

Charlotte just laughs. “ _Talk_? What’s there to _talk_ about? You humans are so remarkably preoccupied with that whole concept. That little doctor my son visits says the same thing, as though _feelings_ ever solved anything. I certainly didn’t talk my way out of Hell, that’s for certain.”

“Your son?” he asks without thinking and receives another little kick for it that makes his dick jump with delight. It would be humiliating if he had enough brain cells working to care.

She throws back her hair, her glass clinking as she sets it on the table, shifting and rearranging her feet on her back so they’re no longer crossed. Dan swallows hard, turning his head to look up at her, his mouth going dry at the sight of her long legs and full spread, eyes darting to the space between her legs still wet and glistening from his earlier efforts.

“Uh uh uh,” she says, removing one foot from his back to press it into his face, the heel jabbing into his chin, turning his gaze back to the floor. “I’m not quite done with you yet.”

Dan bites his tongue, biting back the sharp word on his tongue, rolling it around in his mouth until its edges are smoothed off, and it comes out as, “Yes, goddess.”

There’s a smile in her voice when she says, “Good,” and it hits him somewhere low in the belly, hard as a mule’s kick, in the place that is always found wanting, the good in him that can’t seem to come out when it matters.

“None of it really means anything in the long run, anyway,” Charlotte says after a moment. “Once my sons assemble the flaming sword, we’ll have a way to cut through Heaven’s gates and be free of this sordid world and all of its human detritus.”

She’s _such_ a crazy bitch, he thinks wildly and hates how it makes him want to come so hard he sees stars.

“Once my husband is deposed, I suppose I will have to do _something_ with humanity, since the lot of you have infested this planet like a third century plague. Another flood, maybe. Or a comet.”

She sighs, shifting again, restless almost, like even she’s wearied by her own delusions. Dan aches like a bruise, wanting so badly to ask her the questions she won’t answer, like where she sees him in the bizarre image of the future she talks about in such brutal abstract. He swallows the sigh that follows hers, wondering if the better madness was discussing wiping out humanity with casual detachment or playing human footstool to the woman saying it.

“A shame. I won’t miss most of it, but some thing, I must admit, have grown on me. The wine, for one. Sex, _definitely._ My son was certainly on to something there. And I suppose, speaking of, there’s you,” she says, worrying the pointed tip of her heel against his skin. “Right, Daniel?”

“Right,” he chokes out, nodding, his engine revved up hotter than a solar flare.

“I do think I rather like you,” she says thoughtfully, and something in Dan breaks a little at that because fuck knows nobody else does lately, least of all him.

She lets him linger in that limbo of arousal and humiliation, a place he seems to come around to a little too easily for it to be coincidence these days, before finally giving him mercy. Sliding her legs off him, she makes a show of spreading them wide, folded at a butterfly angle that leaves no secrets. With her weight off his back, he can finally look up at her, full of the awe she inspires in him despite every instinct that knows better.

“All right, then. Enough chit chat.”

He looks up at her, all desperation and misery, and practically moans in relief when he finds her smiling down on him benevolently, an angel of orgasms and practical pity fucks.

Leaning back, she crooks a finger, and he follows it up, pulled by an unseen tether she has wrapped around him. “Why don’t we get back to work, yes?”

Dan nods, placing his hands on her thighs he scurries up, quick and eager as the dog she makes him, and dives in wholly, his tongue running a long line against the seam of her. When she moans, her hands fisting tight in his hair, it is a benediction, a goddess bestowing the only blessing he will ever receive through the gates of the only Heaven he will ever know.

**Author's Note:**

> Shouldn’t have to be said, but obviously Goddess doesn’t care about humans or their agency, so she’s not your model for a BDSM negotiation.


End file.
